


Only a Cat of a Different Coat

by Dark_Writer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cersei has an unnatural attraction to people she shouldn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1890513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Writer/pseuds/Dark_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows how petty she's being but there's something about the Stark girl that fills her where Jaime created a void. She wants to consume her, destroy her, control her and she will have her, regardless of anything and anyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a Cat of a Different Coat

There was a time when she would miss Jaime terribly, a time when she wished with all her heart for his safe return. Now that he was here, however, she found that she would much rather not look at him, would rather not be reminded of how severely their bond had been broken.

It was not his fault; that much she knew objectively. However, the selfish part of her, the craven part that refused to go out into the world without him by her side, blamed him for what was lost between them. It was likely petty of her but she did not care what others would think.

She surveyed the garden, her lips curling in disdain as she noted the new additions that the Lady Tyrell had added. Joffrey needed a wife, that much was certain, but the woman was hardly malleable in the same way that the Stark girl was.

The thought of just how much she could do to the girl in the near future amused her. It would be fitting as well. After all, the Starks had threatened her children, had threatened her union with Jaime. It would only be fair to do the same to their precious daughter.

If she was bothered that Sansa would do as she asked, it did not occur to her. She was only concerned with her own pleasure that evening as she teased the girl with a touch here, a glance there. She knew how much Sansa wanted to please her, to stay in her graces, if only to avoid the punishment she was sure that Joffrey would not hesitate to give out, and she did not hesitate to use that against her.

“Little bird,” she called out, once she was finished eating and had grown bored of the entertainment taking place at the Tyrell girl’s behest, “walk with me.”

Sansa stood slowly and she had to force her impatience down. Tonight, there would be no disparaging the girl, at least not until she had gotten what she wanted. No, tonight was about seduction and taking what she wanted, what she would ensure would be given willingly.

Thankfully, the girl was silent as they walked to her chambers. She would not have accepted unnecessary chatter, willing to bear it only insofar as it was proper to do so in the light of day. Night was hardly the time for propriety and she would not hesitate now to cut the girl down if she had to, her own physical needs be damned.

Still, it was gratifying to know, even after when her body was sated and turned away from the girl she allowed to stay in her bed, that she could have such power over someone after all this time. With Jaime, she was no longer sure, but the Stark girl, she knew, she could twist to her own whims.

* * *

 

The days passed slowly now for Cersei, the wars of the North still of great import but less so in her mind now that Jaime was back and safe in King’s Landing. There may have been something that felt wrong now, something that felt incomplete anytime she looked at her beloved brother’s missing hand, but she never voiced such thoughts aloud to anyone but him.

The situation with the Stark girl, however, was proving to be quite different in ways that she could not have predicted, nor did she want to. Gone was the rebellious streak that the girl seemed to have been developing, replaced by something milder, something she could control.

It concerned her that the Tyrell girl – Margaery, she would acknowledge in her mind – had long taken an interest in her but a word from the queen and Sansa was in her palm once more, pliant and willing to do what was necessary to earn her favour.

It did not matter that the girl’s tactics were familiar as her own, a shield from the knives that would embed themselves in her back should she let her guard down. It did not matter that Cersei could see the girl’s future quite well whenever she looked into a mirror. All that mattered now was that the threat to her family died with the rest of the Starks and the girl was hers to do with as she pleased.

* * *

 

“You’re looking rather happy with yourself today,” Tyrion said, interrupting her morning in the garden. “I take it some poor fool is suffering to bring that radiant smile to your face?”

She did not grace him with a reply. Let the fool prattle on while she was the one whose bed his wife was warming. If he knew, he did not let on, but she knew better than to expect any indication as to how much he suspected. He would attempt to play her as she played him, forever stuck in this stalemate of theirs.

She was not particularly fond of this brother – and how the word galled her even in her own mind – but she was more than willing to suffer his company if only because of the knowledge she possessed. How it would shame him, should he know, she could not guess, not privy as Jaime often was, to the workings of Tyrion’s mind, but even so she would use that information wisely.

“You would know. How are things with your wife?”

Tyrion paused for a moment, as if contemplating an answer before choosing to shrug in response. This was new for him, silent when he would have been more than loquacious before. She knew how much it pained him to be married to the girl but still she twisted the knife even further.

“I take it you still have not consummated the marriage?”

“No.” He grimaced, his ugly face becoming even more so with the expression. “I highly doubt that that will be happening any time soon, in any case. The girl’s too young and I’ve no intention of bedding someone who doesn’t want it.”

Left unsaid was that he would not bed someone who did not want him. She knew all about his little whore but she remained silent, content to wait and watch for a time when she could again use that information to her benefit. It was not as if he would not do the same and this time, there was no one to think about disappointing.

“Jaime says you’ve been spending less and less time with him. Care to elaborate on what he meant?”

That caught her attention and caused her to stiffen her back. They did not do this, never did this. There was no bond between them, only a mutual loathing that neither of them could escape. What did he want?

“I know how lonely it can be, without a lover to call your own, even more so when you have one who won’t talk to you nor you them.”

The bastard _knew_.

“Get to the point, Tyrion.”

“The girl is fragile. Not in any important way, but she will break if you continue along like this. Do you really want to give the North the greatest weapon against us?”

She did not reply, choosing instead to examine the roses they had stopped before. Caressing one lightly, she winced when a thorn pricked her finger. Bright red blood gathered in a delicate drop on her fingertip, poised to fall should she moved.

Had she been younger, it might have been entrancing, but now it was simply another thing to be dealt with in the course of all things. Choosing to ignore it, she moved away from the plant and proceeded to head back to the keep, Tyrion close on her heels.

* * *

 

“You can’t keep doing this, you know,” Jaime said, reclining against the pillows his bare chest gleaming while his good hand stroked back sweat slicked hair. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“We can and will,” she said forcefully, pulling away to look him in the eye. “We are Lannisters, Jaime. Do you remember what that’s like or has your whore addled your mind to the point of senility?”

“Don’t call her that,” he snapped in return, “and there is nothing between myself and Lady Brienne. You know that.”

“Do I? You spend so much time with her now that I’m afraid I don’t know what to think.”

Jaime remained silent and she knew that she had lost. Standing up, she gathered a dressing robe about her and moved to the window, her eyes staring out at the darkened sky above. She felt lost and alone in that moment, suddenly unsure of what to do.

She was not accustomed to this feeling and it bothered her to no end.

“Cersei, sweet, sweet Cersei, we cannot keep doing this, going around in circles.”

“Get out.”

She did not turn to see whether or not Jaime had moved, did not turn to see whether or not her words had been heeded. Rather, she listened for the opening and closing of the doors, breathing a sigh of relief when she was sure that he had gone.

She was not sure how long she could keep this charade up any longer, how long she could keep going like this, pretending that everything was fine when it was so clearly not. There was too much at stake to be exposed but too much to keep hidden.

It would unravel eventually, she just did not know when.

* * *

 

All things must change and change they did with the coming of the new year. No longer did she actively seek out her twin’s presence, choosing instead to spend more and more time alone, suffering the company of simpletons and simpering fools instead. The alternatives were not to be considered, not when she shuddered at even the possibility of trying to be sincerely pleasant to those she would rather have executed.

Not that her present company did much to leave her satisfied either. She would often find herself longing to actively stab Lady Tanda as the woman prattled on about something or the other to do with her daughter, despite the value she unwittingly presented as an informant, or she would feel an increasing desire to simply depose of the council and take the throne for herself.

However, in those times she would reign in her emotions, paint on a smile and continue as if she had not been having violent thoughts at the moment. She had been trained to do this from birth and there was not even the possibility of that mask slipping now.

Yet, her nights were her own to do with as she pleased, to be with whomever was more than willing to share her bed. More often than not, it was the Stark girl, her presence no longer a simple necessity born of a need to keep her close, but now a game she was unwilling to give up.

Margaery’s interest in her had increased over the past few months and it was all that she could do to keep the girl from getting swept up in the Tyrell’s attention, alternatingly showering her with attention and reprimanding her whenever she was displeased.

She wanted to break her now more than ever, wanted to lay waste to that false smile and see the tears that would inevitably come out of it. She wanted the girl’s kindness to end, to destroy everything that Sansa Stark was and to replace it with something darker, something more akin to herself than to anything a Stark could possibly be.

Had she been anyone else, she might have felt guilt, might have hated herself for even contemplating such things, but she was not anyone else. Rather, she craved it almost as much as she craved the kind of power her father had always seemed to possess. It burned in her like a flame, bright and destructive, waiting to be set loose.

The girl may have been a wolf-cub but she was a lioness, fullgrown and powerful. She would see her fall from grace and bear witness to a new Sansa, one that was a reflection of her tutelage rather than that of the girl’s ancestry.

Fish and wolves.

Gods, what she would have done to wipe the Tullys and Starks off of the face of Westeros. It was enough to drive her mad had she been a lesser person but she knew how to control herself, how to keep her emotions in check when she most needed them to be. It was something she had long ago learnt and now, now it would be put to the test.

She would run her hands across young, glistening flesh after they had sex, wondering what more she could do to break her. It was not enough to merely possess her. No, she needed to rid Sansa of all that her father and mother had taught her, make her a blank slate upon which she could write her own story.

It was only fitting that she would do so. The Starks had taken away her Jaime, had taken away that perfect extension of herself and marred it with their filth. She would not stand for it and this? This was the perfect revenge for their transgressions against her.

She needed this, needed to make the girl hers completely. She would not let it go until Sansa was no more Stark than she was Tully.

* * *

“What am I?”

She looked up when the girl entered her chambers, eyes wild and scared, less direwolf and more rabbit than she usually was. It looked marvellous on her and she could not help but admire her handiwork for a moment.

“What am I to you?”

“You shouldn’t ask such foolish questions,” she replied, dismissing the girl out of hand. “Ignore whoever put the idea in your pretty little head that you have to be something.”

“But…”

“Little dove, it is not your place to think,” she said, deciding that wrath would serve no purpose but destruction at the moment. “You must learn to hold your tongue when it will not suit you to speak and leave such contemplations to those who know better. Have I mistreated you Sansa?”

“No, Your Grace.”

It was a lie and they both knew it. She saw the hesitation in Sansa’s demeanour even as she answered, the effort it took for her to hold in the truth and not run screaming. The girl was learning but too slowly for her taste.

“Have I done something to anger you then? Perhaps an unkind word or a hurtful action?”

“No, Your Grace. You haven’t.”

There was something defiant about the way she stood, something that suggested at a spine that had not been there before. However, though she stood ramrod straight and delivered her words in a clear, almost confident voice, she had seen the fear, had seen the hesitation no matter how briefly.

Yet, it would not serve her to pounce just yet. She was curious as to which path the girl would take if she chose to continue with this game.

“Then what is it that has you so riled up, Sansa? Surely it could not be anything that we have done recently?”

She watched carefully as the girl struggled for an answer. First there was confusion, then hesitation followed by shame. It was always the same with this girl and she could not help but wonder at the moment why she had picked her of all the girls in the keep to play with.

However, that moment of self-doubt disappeared when she reminded herself that Sansa was the key to the Tyrell girl. She was no longer queen but she would have her revenge one way or another.

“I-I don’t want to continue this game anymore.”

Her gaze sharpened at that and she moved towards Sansa, pinning her to the wall with her body, hands on either side of the girl’s waist. She could feel the movement of each breath she took, noted the terror in blue eyes that widened at her proximity.

“My dear, stupid little dove. Do you really think I would be willing to give you up so easily?”


End file.
